HAVING A ROAST
Lamb chops were burned,For killing the steak.
The sausage just turned,
Said it was all a mistake.
There was no chest,
On the chestnuts.
They didn't stand out,
The mushrooms we're not,
The only ones to gadabout.
The potatoes they cried,
From the top of their eyes.
For being left out,
Because of the stories.
From one brussel sprout,
Even the bread raised a glass,
When it heard it was toasted.
All of this took place,
Because the food wasn't roasted.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 156 times
Written on 2022-05-12 at 00:57
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
Uncle Meridian |
